


Dutch van der Linde - RDR2 RP Summary

by TurboTavia



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Background Relationships, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Gang Violence, Gun Violence, Inspired by Red Dead Redemption, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Pre-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Roleplay, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 03:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20090854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurboTavia/pseuds/TurboTavia
Summary: Much like what I do with Holden, I will be posting what I have written whilst playing as Dutch so far, seeing as I was lucky enough to get the role. I put a decent bit of time and effort in studying the character and things he would say, but I still make mistakes so please forgive me!Included will be things people playing as other characters say as they interact with Dutch, much like you would in game. This also means that some interactions are small, though some are a little larger.We are currently in the month of April and have one month until the Blackwater ferry job, so it's a fair bit of idling until things really start taking off.Any text written by another person (unless discussed beforehand) is unplanned and I have no influence over their choices.Texts are written spontaneously, meaning at times the grammar or pacing is sloppy and are greatly influenced by other people's texts, making it difficult at times to plan out what will be written.For any questions, simply post below in the comments!Thanks for reading. ♥





	1. Chapter 1

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Day 1

the van der Linde camp

Arthur 

It was early and bright in the morning, the rays of the sun shining down on the van der Linde camp, as the gunslinger let out an elated yawn, sitting up on his bed as he stretched slightly. His stomach would've begged for food, growling as he stood up, stripping off his pajamas and changing into his classic outfit, a faded baby blue button down shirt, along with some charcoal back pants, boots, and finally, a pair of gray and black overall straps.

Strapping on his gun belt, he would've snatched up his hat as he exited the tent, the sun's bright rays making him squint slightly as he placed the weathered leather hat atop his head. Finally, rolling up his sleeves just below his elbows, he would've taken a gander around the camp as he smirked slightly.

While not everyone was awake, as most were in their tents, the past few weeks had been good to the van der Linde gang. Everyone was in great spirits, and things were going well for them. Arthur had imagined that the most ecstatic upon them all was Dutch, the charming leader of the notorious gang.

The thought of his surrogate father coming across his mind, the gunslinger had wondered what kind of gig Dutch had been planning next.

The man opened his leather satchel, reaching in and fetching a cigarette and a lighter. Placing the light item into his mouth, he would've struck the match against his boot as it lit up, a flame now dancing between his fingers. Lighting the cigarette, he would've puffed on it once as smoke shot up into the air. Quickly waving out the burning match, he would've tossed it aside as he leaned against one of the supports of his tent, enjoying a cigarette.

Dutch 

Around the other side of his tent, presumably out of view of most of those already at the campfire going through their early-morning ritual of collecting their coffee and greeting one-another, sits Dutch on his trusty chair - mostly trusty because it has yet to collapse under his weight - pen balanced between thumb and forefinger. It was a spur of the moment thing, where his eyes had met the sun rising across the plains through the open folds of his tent and his mind jolted into action, forcing him to reach for his journal despite the sleep deprived complaints of Molly beside him.

And so he sits facing the sunrise, forgotten cigar hanging loosely from his lips as he reads over what he has written, a faint smile of teeth just visible where they part. He certainly isn't proud of it just yet, but it's a start and can be improved upon if he so wishes. Though, oddly enough, what he has written is nothing positive, the adrenaline he got from putting the words on paper gave him that little push of enthusiasm needed to start the day, and he slaps his book shut. He sets it aside then gets to his feet, rubbing his hands together as he strides out into the camp.

"Good morning!" his voice booms as he approaches the campfire, turning a few heads. "A fine morning it is and a fine one it shall hopefully remain. Oh, thank you Miss Grimshaw."

Dutch takes a cup of coffee offered to him by Susan with a fine smile and she replies to him a cheerful 'good morning'.

Arthur 

A light smirk would've played at the gungslinger's lips upon hearing the voice of Dutch, his eyes flicking over to the leader as he some smoke escaped his lips. Lightly pushing off the support he had been leaning on, he would've made his way over to fetch some coffee, coincidentally were Dutch had currently been residing.   
  
A cigarette sitting firmly between his lips, the brooding man would've chuckled lightly as he poured himself some coffee in a tin mug. "You seem to be in good spirits, Dutch." Figuring that this was the result simply because the man had something brewing in his mind as he always did, Arthur would've met his gaze, blowing some gray smoke up into the seemingly never ending sky.

Dutch 

"I am always in good spirits when I am surrounded by such fine fellows as yourselves," Dutch says, thumping his free hand fondly on Arthur's shoulder as the man stands by his side. He offers him a toothy smile, crows' feet appearing in the corners of his eyes.

"You have yet to displease me and I trust it to remain this way with how things have been, and I fear I am unable to wake in poor spirits on a fine morning like this one."

He takes a deep drink of his coffee, cigar balanced precariously in the corner of his mouth as it fights for position beside his cup between his lips, exhaling as he lowers it again as if to exaggerate how good it tastes.

Arthur 

The man would've simply chuckled heartily once again, downing a large portion of his coffee before taking another puff from his cigarette.

"Whatever you say, Dutch. Got any grand ideas cookin' up yet?" He would've spoken rather sarcastically, as he always did, although it was all in good nature. Arthur would've glanced around for a moment, admiring the scenery and overall good spirits in the camp as the gang slowly yet steadily began to get to their morning chores. Things were currently as good as they could currently get for the gang, at least in the gungslinger's eyes, and he hoped for them to stay that way.

Dutch 

"You say that as if my grand ideas amuse you, my boy." He lets out a low, hearty chuckle and removes his hand, instead hooking it onto his hip in a relaxed stance, reclining on one leg, then says, "Though there are always grand plans cooking in this oven, as old as it may be it is still running at full working order, I assure you."

Arthur 

Seeming to have dodged the question, the man figured that Dutch did in fact have something cooking, some kind of plan. However, if he didn't tell Arthur of all people, he figured that he had a reason to keep it a secret. Therefore, the gunslinger would respect that.

"I should've figured you had something cookin'." He would've smirked slightly, glancing around at the camp for another moment as he finished his coffee, setting the tin mug to the side. "Things are lookin' good for the camp though, folk're in good spirits." Arthur would've commented, although he was absolutely sure Dutch had already noticed.

"Ledger's lookin' good as well. Only problem I see is that folk seem to be gettin' bored." He would've chuckled lightly, taking one last draw from his cigarette before dropping it, pressing his boot against it as to snuff out the embers. "And by 'folk', I mean John, Micah, Bill, and Sean. The lot of 'em's trigger finger is itchin'." The outlaw would've let out an elated sigh, glancing over at Bill, who would've been currently talking to Mr. Pearson at the moment.

Dutch 

"Now, I am sure everyone can find some way to distract themselves if they put their minds to it, Arthur. Let them be. We have finally got a good amount of money on hand and I am sure that very soon we will have more than enough to buy our own land and live as free men."

Dutch puts down his cup and walks backwarda way from the campfire, arms spread outwards as he gestures all around them, his expression elated and full of hope as he loudly says to everyone in camp, "Just look at the promises of this land. We have already proven ourselves more than capable of earning a fair haul of money, as Lenny and Charles have to show from that job last week, and Miss Gaskill and Miss Jones demonstrated a fine way with their words just yesterday." The respective gang members nod their heads in agreement and recognition.

"Hell, even Uncle has been out more often than there are days in the week!"

He looks to Arthur again, chest rising as adrenlaine courses through his veins., lowering his voice once more.

"Have no worries son. All will be well in the end. Just one more big haul, then we have the world at our very fingertips."

Arthur 

"I know, Dutch, I know. I don't doubt you." Placing his hand atop his hat, he would've taken it off for a moment, running a hand through his hair as he sighed lightly, before putting it back on. Glancing over at where the ledger had currently resided, remembering that he soon had to go debt collecting. However, pushing the though aside, the gunslinger would've met Dutch's gaze.

"So what's the plan from here? Do we got one?" Arthur understood he was pressing for many questions, however he didn't like living aimlessly. He understood what their goal was, however he was wondering what the next steps were. Sure, the money they had was enough to buy a nice plot of land for themselves, however they were going to need more. They needed at least a few more decent hauls before they could do that, retiring into a farmer's life without every having to raise a gun again. Of course, however, the outlaw knew that Dutch likely had a plan for that. He always did.

Dutch 

"All in good time. For now, why not make use of the fine day and ride into town?" Dutch suggests, hands on his hips, cigar between his fingers. He then raises his hand and points to Arthur with his cigar. "For sure it has been too long since Boadicea was given the chance to stretch her legs, and that is mighty uncommon for you Arthur; staying at camp for so long. Has Uncle scared you out of Blackwater with his regular visits?"

Another low chuckle escapes his lips as he puts his cigar to them and takes a drag from it.

Arthur 

"Figure I met as well, got some folk that haven't paid debt yet." Turning his head slightly, he would've glanced over at Boadicea, his vast horse. Arthur would've then flicked his eyes over past Dutch as they landed on the one and only, Leopold Strauss. "And what about you, Dutch? You busy writin' poems?" Once again he would've jested, and once again it would've been all in good fun. Walking past Dutch, the gunslinger would've made his way over to Leopold, awaiting whatever retort or comeback the gang's leader had to throw his way.

Dutch 

"I admire your quick wit, my boy! It seems I have raised you too well, though I trust you would not allow me to read whatever poems you have been writing, as fond of that journal as you are," he calls after Arthur, rather amused.

Arthur 

"You don't take me for a man of fine arts, do you, Dutch? I just, you know..." Arthur would've struggled slightly, turning on his heel to face the man. "Scribble down some thoughts, or what needs to be written down. I suppose." He would've mumbled, turning on his heel once again as a devilish smirk played at his lips. "Maybe you can write a song, Dutch! Javier can play the guitar, and you'll be the singer." Some gang members in nearby vicinity would've snickered at the sound of it.

Dutch 

"You'll make a mockery of me yet, if not in outwitting me then in having me make a fool of myself," Dutch says with a chuckle, folding his arms across his chest. "Perhaps instead you read us one of your entries tonight as our evening entertainment. I'm sure Miss Gaskill will be keen on what you have to say."

Arthur 

"Fair enough, Dutch. You win." Arthur would've given up rather quickly, however he was interested in a long talk, as he did have things to do, and in all honesty, he was itching to go into town.

The outlaw would've waived slightly, as if to say goodbye to Dutch, making his way over to Strauss as they engaged in some conversation. While Arthur was a quick-witted man, he knew Dutch had him beat in that regard, he to be quite frank, he wasn't all that interested in a battle of words. It was quite in his nature to let Dutch have a win such as that. However, the two got along well, like father and son, and that was all that mattered.

Dutch 

He shakes his head in disbelief at how quickly Arthur is to give up, but he can hardly blame him judging by his love for the privacy of that journal. Dutch is sure that one day he will sneak a peek at the secrets Arthur has hidden away in there - he will however not look without the man's permission.

Even he has some standards.

Instead he smiles fondly in the man's direction as he walks away then turns on his heel back to the campfire, cigar firmly in hand and welcoming smile on his lips to coverse with the other gang members.

Arthur 

Eventually, after a brief talk with Strauss on which debtors needed to be talked to, the gunslinger would've mounted Bodicea, heading off into the horizon as he eventually disappeared out of sight, leaving only a trail of dust behind him.

John 

After getting the layout and more insight from Blackwater, John would return to camp.

He would hitch Old Fashioned in one of the hitching posts closer to his tent. Marston would pat his horse twice before dismounting it. He would open the right saddlebag to grab an apple to feed him. John would hold the apple to his horse's mouth as it would begin chewing. Once it finished eating the snack, he would close that saddlebag, walking over to the left one before opening it. Marston would grab his brush from the left saddlebag and would begin to brush the coat and the mane. "There, boy."

After John finishes, he would store the brush back in the saddlebag, closing it, and would head toward his tent. He would walk inside his tent.

He would think for a moment about what he would say to Dutch before walking outside again on this lovely morning. Marston would take the sun in and would stretch his arms before approaching Dutch's tent.

Dutch 

Dutch however is not in his tent, and is instead still by the fireplace, chatting with the others and laughing his loud, booming laugh.

John 

Marston would search Dutch's tent before realizing he's not there. He would hear laughter by the campfire, so he figured that must be where Dutch is. He would exit the tent through the backside before noticing Dutch sitting with the rest of the guys. John would walk over to the campfire.

Dutch 

He looks up as John approaches and offers the man a cheerful smile, saying, "John, how good of you to join us. Where did you scurry off to this time?"

John 

John would give a slight chuckle before stating, "I went to Blackwater." He would look at the gang members by the fire, then at Dutch as if he was suggesting privacy.

Dutch 

Dutch notices a look in John's beedy eyes, then turns back to the others and excusing himself with a brief, "Folk."  
  
With a grunt he gets to his feet, dusts the back of his trousers clean then heads away from the campfire to his tent, assuming John will follow him, and pushes through the flaps to the inside. He sits down in his chair and waits for John.

John 

John would follow Dutch to his tent, pushing through the flaps, he would look at Dutch. "I'm going to assume everybody knows the layout of Blackwater." He would get out a rolled-up piece of paper from his pocket, straightening it and then handing it to Dutch.

It would be a poorly drawn sketch of the aerial view of Blackwater, John definitely was not the greatest of drawers, unlike Arthur. "Anyway, I was at the saloon there, and I heard some fellas talking about a lot of money being in that town. There are rich folk to rob from, the bank..."

"I mean, obviously, there would be, it's Blackwater. Just heard about several houses owning more money than half the townsfolk."

Dutch 

He listens carefully, giving John the time to finish as he rests his chin on his hands, elbows on his knees. When he's finished, Dutch removes his hat and runs his other hand through his hair, then replaces his hat.

"I'm not too surprised considering the way some of these people flaunt themselves about," he says, rather ironically considering his 'casual' daywear. "There may be a dime or two if we know where to look."

He looks up at John with a somewhat serious expression. "You think you can find out where to look?"

John 

John would carefully listen to Dutch as he spoke. When Dutch looked at him with that expression, he pointed to the map. "I found them," the map would have several houses circled, meaning houses with a bunch of cash.

Dutch 

Dutch consults the map, running a hand along the edge of his chin as he thinks. Then he smiles, looking up at John again. "Certainly couldn't hurt to take a look now, could it? Why don't you rest on this for now, and I'll send Charles and Arthur into town to scope them out."

John 

John would also run his hand along his chin, mocking Dutch as he examined the map. He would look at the tent's wooden flooring, then back at him when he spoke. "I think I'll head into town with them when they go. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy my stay at the grub." Marston would reach his hand out, waiting for Dutch to hand the map back. "Maybe this'll help too."

Dutch 

He rolls up the map, gestures to John with it, before slipping it behind himself. "You'll do no such thing. Charles and Arthur are more than capable to go it alone and I trust them to get it done right. You've done your part, so go and relax."

John 

"Pfft. If you say so," John would shrug. "I'll talk to you later." He would exit the tent from the frontside, where the flaps aren't interrupting.

Marston would head by Pearson's Wagon, where he would grab the silver plate from the back. He would walk to the grub, grabbing the big spoon to dip inside the beef stew. Still, no seasoning, he thought. John would drop three spoonfuls of beef stew onto his plate before replacing the spoon. He would walk over to where the campfire and the boys are, taking a bite off of his hash-brown potatoes.

Dutch 

Dutch stays where he's sat for a moment, fingers still on the paper he has held behind his back, thinking.

He gets to his feet and walks up to the open side of his tent, drawing the flaps closed to give himself some privacy as he settles as his table, spreading the map out in front of him.

John 

John would sit down on a log beside the campfire, hearing the group tell funny stories. He would begin eating his beef stew as he'd laugh as they continued to tell jokes. It felt amazing hearing a morning comedy as the sun was 1/4 across the sky. After this, he would be getting a coffee.

.・。.・゜✯

Dutch 

After some time has passed, Dutch rolls up the map again and sets it aside then leans back in his chair with a sigh. He picks up his cigar and a match from the table, striking it against his boot as he crosses it over the opposite knee, lighting the cigar through his teeth.

He removes his hat, dropping it on the table, and runs a hand through his hair, being careful not to rub out the pomade as he does so. Though it may not be a lot to think about, he sure likes to take his time carefully planning these things out. He can't afford for a job to go wrong; not when they're so close to living as free men.

A cloud of smoke circles above his head as he exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. So close. Then they're free.

John 

John would be doing the daily camp chores since nobody else has and Arthur was out collecting a debt. At the moment, he would be carrying wood logs to a small tree stump on the ground near the edge of the camp. Marston would drop the wood carrier beside the tree stump before grabbing the chopping axe, that happens to be resting on the stump. He'd grab a wood log from the ground, standing it upright before stepping back, raising the axe over his shoulder. John would swing the axe into the middle of the log, splitting it into two pieces of wood that is used for the campfire. He would continue to chop down firewood, occasionally getting the axe stuck into the wood. Overall, there were about ten total pieces of firewood he carried to this area.

Dutch 

The thud of an axe draws Dutch out of his thinking trance and he glances to the closed folds of his tent, cigar in hand. He watches it for a moment, as though willing them to open of their own accord, but when they don't he pulls himself to his feet and walks up to them.

He flips them open and steps outside into the glaring sun, immediately noticing how much warmer it has gotten already. The flaps drop close behind him as he stays where he is stood, loitering on the wooden platform that holds his tent, occassionally taking a drag from his cigar as he watches the gang members go about their business.

.・。.・゜✯

Arthur 

The sound of a horse's hooves hitting the ground would've resounded nearby, a rather faint noise as a figure appeared in the trees. The tall and elegant horse, with the brooding figure sitting atop it. Anyone familiar with the camp's members would've recognized the duo as none other than Arthur Morgan and his Bodicea. Dismounting from the vast beast, he would've lead it to the hitch, tieing it there as he sighed, making his way over to the 'donation box' for the camp, where everyone contributed to the camp funds.

Arthur was one of the most frequent visitors to the box, and often added the largest amount of money to it. However, it varied. Reaching into his satchel, he would've pulled the ornate brooch, along with the fifty dollars and stuffed it into the box. Closing it, he would've wiped some sweat from his brow as the gunslinger approached Leopold Strauss.

"Hello Arthur, how did you get along?" He would've inquired the outlaw in his signature, thick German accent.

"Just fine, Strauss, just fine. Boy didn't even put up a damn fight." The older man's eyes would've lit up as he beamed, nodding and scribbling away in his book. Arthur would've returned the nod, fetching a cigarette and match from his leather satchel as he leaned against a nearby tree, puffing on his cigarette. Lastly, he would've pulled out his beloved journal and a pen, beginning to scribble away in his journal about the day in general. The shade cast down from the hat would've covered some of his complexion and his eyes, making it rather difficult to read his face.

John 

John would finish chopping the firewood, he would just leave the wood logs there, hoping somebody is going to take them. Marston would hear the sound of a horse riding into camp, without even looking, he knew it was Arthur Morgan. The big man. John would walk by Arthur as he'd turn in what seemed like a brooch into the gang's tithing box. He certainly loved the rules and the many things the gang shares with all of us. Marston would walk to the wagon where the working ladies slept and were forced to work by Miss Grimshaw.

"Ladies," he would say as he would pick up one of the hay bales to feed the horses with. Karen and Mary-Beth wouldn't respond, but they look at John with a smile. Tilly responds with "Hey, John," as he continues cleaning the clothes. He would proceed to carry the hay bale over to the horses by Pearson's Wagon.

Dutch 

Despite the many distractions around camp, Dutch finds his mind wandering once more as his cigar droops from his lips, almost falling before he snatches it up with a hand. He grips it a little tightly, watching the burning end drip embers that disappear just before hitting the ground, eyebrows drawn.

He lifts a boot and stubs the cigar out on the underside of it, slipping it into his pocket. A brief glance across camp later, then he is straightening his vest and hat, striding meaningfully over where his horse grazes aside Silver Dollar.

The horses raise their heads as he nears and Dutch finds himself smiling, running a hand along Hosea's mount as he passes him then reaching for his own whose ears swivell in his direction. He pats him on his shoulder then sticks his foot into the stirrup and reins him around to face camp

"Miss Grimshaw, Mr. Pearson, please take care of the place," he calls across to the two, then he looks over to Arthur. "Arthur, keep everybody in line. And John is not to leave camp.

I'll be back before long."

The Count is pulled around then breaks off at a trot away from camp.

John 

John would laugh as he heard Dutch hollar and ride away from the camp. He would begin carrying sacks to Pearson's wagon, the final chore he had to do before resting for the day. He already took the water bucket over, the hay bales, the firewood, now the sacks, the four basic daily chores. Maybe he would check on Arthur once he finishes with the last sack.

Once he would finish dropping the final sack beside Pearson's wagon, he would see Arthur by the tree. John would begin to walk toward Arthur.

Arthur

Arthur would've closed up his journal, stuffing the item along with his pen into the leathery satchel, closing it up as he simply nodded when he heard Dutch call out to him. "Will do."

The gunslinger would've hollered back, tossing his cigarette on the ground and smushing it with his boot as he noticed a young man approaching him. None other than John Marston, the kid that always managed to get himself into trouble. A light smirk would've played at the gungslinger's lips as the man approached. "What's going on now, boy? Left your revolver at some saloon?" He would've smirked slightly, teasing him in good fun.

John 

"I'll have you know that I drew a map of the layout of Blackwater and I heard fellas talkin' about money kept in several houses." John would immediately get angry at Arthur's way of saying 'hello.' "Dutch told me you and Charles were going to look into that."

Arthur 

"Would you look at that, Dutch's actually found a use for you!" The outlaw would've teased more, chuckling lightly. While John was like a brother to him, he wasn't always particularly fond of him, as at times he felt like the young man couldn't carry his own weight. "Charles? Yeah, I think Dutch mentioned somethin' 'bout that. You mind showin' me the map, boy?" Arthur would've met John's gaze, before rubbing his beard slightly.

John 

John would glance at Dutch's tent, then the pathway Dutch took to leave the camp. "Dutch had the map." He would scratch his forehead.

Arthur 

Arthur would've let out an elated sigh, scratching his beard slightly and his eyes flicked over to Dutch's tent. "'Course he did. I'll take a look when he gets back...did you happen to spot anythin' that was particularly interestin', aside from that map you made?"

The outlaw doubted Dutch has sent John to really scout out any of the areas that could have potential money, however he figured it could've been worth a shot anyways.

John 

"The map had all the goods, Arthur," John would shrug. "Maybe he left it at the tent," he would say as if he was suggesting to take a look.

Arthur 

The brooding man would've simply scoffed, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "If there's somethin' you should've learned boy, it should've been that you never search another man's stuff without their permission. Especially a man you respect." Arthur would've lightly pushed off against the tree, walking over to Mr. Pearson's little setup to get a bite to eat. Whether John cared to follow or not, the gunslinger was rather indifferent.

John 

"It's my map," John would reply as Arthur would begin to walk away. "Pfft. Never mind. What're you up to now?" John would change the subject. Arthur had a point, even if they disagreed on a lot of things, this was one they could finally agree on - even if John didn't exactly say that. Dutch was a father figure to John, disobeying him would be wrong. Even if Marston wanted to ride with Charles and Arthur, he was loyal to Dutch. Always has been. Always will be

"Got anythin' to eat yet?"

Arthur 

"Not quite." Arthur would've snatched himself a bowl of stew, along with a beer as he sat down by the campfire, looking up at the young man, his brother. "You fixin' to eat something boy?"

He would've raised an eyebrow slightly, before his eyes flicked to his food, which he took a little bit from. The gunslinger knew that with this supposed haul he was to snatch with Charles, that would put them at their goal for the month. The only thing they would've needed next is enough money to actually manage themselves, meaning one more large haul. After that, they could retire as farmers, and live the rest of their life free from society. The perfect ending, almost too good to be true.

John 

"I already had stew this morning, I'll wait." John would sit beside Arthur, enjoying the lovely campfire as the sun would slowly begin to set across the skyline. "I could use a beer, though." John would chuckle.

Javier 

Javier arrived to the bonfire, having just finished the day’s rounds of chores and other personal necessities. It was time to ease up, eat, and converse with his fellow gang members, or rather, his family. It would seem that Arthur and John were already enjoying their day; next to the campfire.

Javier briefly removes his hat and wipes the sweat off of his hot hair and forehead, all the while walking towards the fire. It’d be nice to catch-up with John and Arthur, and learn about their personal goals and ventures for the time being. He quickly approached the two and whistled a small tune before stopping in an open spot.

“Señor Marston, Señor Morgan, mind if I join you and take a seat?” His voice had his typical Spanish accent and charismatic tone. They’d surely allow him to take a seat but it was better to ask, rather than intrude on what could potentially be a private conversation.

Arthur 

Arthur would've taken a swig from his beer, setting down the bottle to his right as he glanced up at the silver-tongued Mexican. Gesturing towards the seat across from himself, the gunslinger would've simply nodded. "Be my guest."

Arthur would've placed a hand atop his hat, slipping it off as he set it aside, running a hand through his hair. While he usually kept his leathery hat on at all times, it was rather hot during the day, and leather was a particular material that caused him to heat up faster, as it would with anyone else. "What'd you been up to today, Javier?" He would've glanced up from his food, his hazel eyes meeting Javier's.

Javier 

Javier took a seat on the open spot. It felt good to finally take a seat after hours of walking around, feeding horses, cleaning horse dung, and making sure the tents were clean. “You know... the usual chores ‘n such that Dutch make sure we have done. Been hot today which never helps.” He removed his hat fully and set it down next to his right leg. The sun was beating down on them, more than usual.

“How about yourself? I know you typically have the fun things to do. Also, you have any extra liquor?” *His eyes remained locked onto Arthur’s to show the mutual respect he had. His free hand rubbed across the black facial hairs under his chin, to beat the sweat off of it. He’d quickly speak under his breath, “Feels like Diablo’s culo and more out here...”

John 

John would notice Javier asking to sit, he nodded as they all sat together in the campfire, the sky finally turning more orange and dark. He would be staring at the fire as Arthur and Javier spoke to each other thinking of Jack and Abigail. Abigail, mostly, and how annoying she is. It would be getting cooler as the sun descended, Javier should be feeling more comfortable. It would be a fairly peaceful night, most of the gang huddled around the bonfire, not really talking out loud. They're all more trying to relax and enjoy the wonderful form of heat they had in front of them. It felt pretty damn good.

John would stand up, walking in the direction of Pearson's wagon to grab two bottles of beer for both him and Javier. He would return about a minute later, handing a beer bottle to Mr. Escuella. "It isn't the van der Linde gang without alcohol," he would laugh, scratching his rather light stubble.

Javier 

Javier smiled and grabbed the bottle of beer. John’s statement was somewhat true. The gang typically ended their days or nights with a fine bottle of alcohol and reflection on what they did. “John, how about you? What’d you do today? Aside from the typical work and catching leads.” He’d sigh and opened the bottle. The cork would fall aside and Javier took a long sip. The taste was bitter and hot but it was better than nothing. “Nothing better than that...” He set the bottle down and watched the fire, waiting for John to respond.

John 

John twisted the cap of the beer bottle olen before taking a swig off of the liquor, before swallowing it cleanly down his throat. "In that case, I didn't do much."

He would take another sip of the beer before resting that hand on his lap, spitting on the ground and watching the fire light the camp's perimeter - along with the scout campfire. It was a shame that they still had the same old tents, the same old hard tables, the same grass as flooring, but he certainly was grateful that he actually had a family and shelter. People to defend and people who can defend you. "Nothin' better than that," he would repeat Javier's words, agreeing with him.

Arthur 

Arthur would've watched the two in silence as he ate his food, responding to Javier's comments from earlier before. "Shook up some boy for three hundred and fifty dollars, owed Strauss some money. Damn kid didn't even put up a fight, I raised my damn fist and he through money at me." Arthur would've chuckled heartily, placing his now empty, wooden bowl of stew to the side. The gunslinger would've picked up his glass of beer, sipping from it as he watched the two.

John 

John would enjoy the warmth for a second before saying, "Where's Dutch? He should've been home by now." He would seem somewhat concerned, what could he have been doing?

Finally, it's flat-out night, the moon is starting to rise and the Milky Way Galaxy can be seen from the sky. It was beautiful, John thought as he stared at it, waiting for Arthur or Javier's response to what he had said. Abigail and Jack are also not at the campfire, but Jack was just some random kid who had to sleep earlier than the others. Marston would glance at the pathway Dutch took to exit the camp for a second, then back at the group.

Arthur 

While John was worried about Dutch, the outlaw wasn't in any way worried. Yes, Dutch could often get himself into a scrape, however he could talk himself out of it as good as anyone else.

"Ahh, I'm sure he's just fine." He would've glanced up into the dark sky as he reached for his hat, placing it atop his head. "He best get back soon though, or I fear Molly may try and kill the damn man." The gunslinger would've chuckled lightly, although he wasn't entirely wrong, he had found himself caught in a bad fight between Dutch and Molly multiple times, which was never a pleasant sight. They always ended rather quick, however it was all the same.

John 

John would turn back to the bonfire, finishing his beer. He threw the beer bottle somewhere in an open space. As Marston began to stand - he said, "alright, I should be getting some rest. You should too. You and Charles got a big day." John would bend over to grab Arthur's wooden plate, "I'll take this to Pearson." He would simply walk away, not awaiting for any sort of response.

After he finished turning the plate to Pearson's wagon, he would walk to his tent. Marston would push the flaps open as he'd walk inside, seeing Abigail and Jack resting in a separate bedroll. He would close the flaps, trying not to wake them. Marston'd take off his shoes and his hat before laying down, sighing as he'd stare at the top of the tent. Eventually, he would close his eyes.

Dutch 

The sound of hooves break the silence of the camp as Dutch and The Count trot over a rise and approach the flattened clearing. It barely takes him a minute to dismount his horse before he's making his way straight to his tent, bursting through the flaps with meaning, making sure they fall close behind him.

Arthur 

When Dutch would've arrived at late in the middle of the beautiful, starry night, only one figure had been awake and present at the camp. And that was none other than Arthur Morgan, who had been awaiting the charming man, mostly so he could make sure everything was in order, and then finally moved into his tent. Stripping himself of his clothing, the gunslinger would've moved into his bed and slowly drifted off into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

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Day 2  


the van der Linde camp

Arthur 

It was early in the morning when the outlaw awoke to the singing of the birds and the rays of the sun creeping ever so slightly through his tent. Sitting up, Arthur would've groaned and stretched, looking around for a moment before standing up, pushing aside one of the flaps of his tent for a moment as he peered outside. It was early in the morning, the sun had just been rising over the trees.

Donning all his regular clothing, the brooding man would've reached for his leathery hat, placing it atop his head as he walked outside of the tent, gazing around. The majority of the camp was still drifting in deep sleep, however there were some individuals who had already started their daily chores. Making his way over to the bonfire, Arthur would've poured himself a hot cup of coffee into a tin mug, sipping on it as he glanced around the magnificent camp.

Dutch 

Though still very early, it has passed the time when Dutch normally would have emerged from his tent. He only ever stays inside longer when he has a lot on his mind, and it seems this is one of those mornings. Despite his stomach complaining he doesn't move, still sat on his now-empty cot, as Molly has gone for breakfast, head in his hands.

Lenny 

Lenny kicked back, chilling in his chair as the cool summer breeze swiped along his neck. In spare time, there never was a moment wasted, never a moment without a book and paper upon his hands. He flipped through The Innocents Abroad, an 1869 novel written by Mark Twain. Alone, at the table, though he never felt alone with a book in his hands. He turned the page and lost himself in the immense writing world of Twain.

Arthur 

The gunslinger would've noticed the absence of Dutch, which always proved to be rather rare, and it almost always meant that the man had something on his mind. Arthur had also noticed the Molly had made her way out by now, so the only real possibility was that Dutch had been pondering over something. However, as he didn't want to get in the middle of anything, the outlaw decided not to question Molly about his whereabouts. Fetching himself a bowl of Pearson'a famous stew, the brooding man would've sat down near the bonfire as he dug into his delicious food, and sipped from his dark coffee.

Dutch 

The individual lines of the wooden-slated table slowly come into focus as Dutch fades out his train of thought, sitting back a little as he realizes just how far he was leant forward. His head is killing him, the edges of his vision blurry as his heartbeat sends a dull pain throbbing through his skull.

He groans and grips the bridge of his nose, taking a moment to collect himself.

After a whole morning of nonstop thinking his mind is swimming and he isn't sure that he could think a second longer, so he pulls himself to his feet and makes his way to the entrance of his tent, picking up his hat along the way. He pushes through the flaps with his other shoulder, perching his hat on his head once he is fully outside, and squints up at the sky, a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. It's a glorious day, as it so often is in this fine state, and that alone is reason enough to twitch a smile onto his lips; even despite his headache.

Dutch rolls his shoulders, grunting appreciatively as his spine cracks, freeing him from one more pain caused this morning. Who knew thinking could be so painful?

John 

John would open his eyes to the sunshine raying into his tent, Abigail must've left the flaps up. Marston would slide to his shoes, putting them on, and would snatch his hat real quick. He would set his hat on his head before he'd walk outside. Pearson would be cooking, the ladies getting to work, other gang members doing chores, it was a nice morning. John would walk to the grub, grabbing a silver, metal mug out of Pearson's wagon before pouring himself some coffee.

Charles 

With his trust bow slung around his shoulder Charles led his trusty horse Taima to the camps hitching post. He hadn't been at the camp for a couple days due to being out hunting and getting supplies he'd need for arrows and what not. Along the way Charles made sure to stay out of trouble, with only robbing a dumbass who approached him first. With only just arrving back to camp Charles grabbed the deer and 2 rabbits he had found then took them over to Pearson as a donation for the camp. He was still fairly new so there he had to still show he could handle his weight.

Dutch 

Dutch's eyes, appearing hazel in the morning sun, fall on Charles as he approaches Mr. Pearson. He folds his arms in his usual relaxed stance and nods in recognition of the donation. No matter how small or how easy a donation is, he is appreciative of all. It's always good to see the gang pulling their weight.

Arthur 

The outlaw would've held the wooden bowl in his hand, along with a tin mug in the opposite one as he carried it over to Pearson, setting it down. Noticing Dutch had finally crawled out of his hole, Arthur would've tipped his hat slightly, approaching the man. The yellow grass beneath his feet would've crunched with every step as he faced Dutch.

"Marston mentioned you had a job for me and Charles. As usual, the boy couldn't explain it for shit. Care explainin' for me?" The gunslinger would've slipped a cigarette out from the brown, leather satchel, striking a match and lighting it as he puffed some smoke into the air.

Dutch 

"You're far too hard on him, Arthur," Dutch says fondly as the man approaches him, teeth showing in a smile. "I would be glad to inform you, if you would be so kind as to collect Charles and bring him to me."

He turns and begins fastening the tent flaps to the poles so they stay open, then heads back inside the tent to set up the plans on the table.

Arthur 

"I wouldn't be so damn hard on him if he could carry his own goddamn weight." Arthur would've simply sighed and shook his head, puffing on his cigarette as he turned on his heel, nodding. "Sure." The outlaw would've spoked simply, making his way over to Charles as he gestured him over to him. "Dutch wants to have a word with you and me 'bout some job of sorts."

Charles 

Charles was in the middle of grabbing himself a plate of Pearsons stew, but stopped halway when Arthur apporached him. "Right now? Any idea on what he might want us to do." Charles sat the plate down looked over Arthur towards Dutch's tent. It was better to not keep him waiting Charles figured.

"I can eat later, anything Dutch needs i'll be glad to help."

Arthur 

The gunslinger would've shrugged slightly, meeting the man's gaze. "Probably involves either killin' or robbin' folk." He would've smirked slightly at the man, turning on his heel as he made his way back over to Dutch's tent. The hot sun would've beat down on his back as he wiped some sweat from his brow, peering at the entrance of the tent. He would've slowly pushed aside one of the flaps, looking back at Charles before stepping inside the luxurious tent.

"Dutch." He would've spoken his leader's name, as sort of an acknowledgment to alert the man of their presence.

John 

Eventually, Marston would finish drinking his morning coffee, he would begin to work on the daily chores earlier as he's more energized now. Starting with carrying a water bucket to Pearson's wagon.

Dutch 

Dutch reclines in his chair, elbows on his knees and a cigar smoking on his lips. He has a determined expression, if not partly amused, as he greets the two men with a nod and gestures for them to approach the table between them. A map as well as various notes on dog-eared pieces of paper are spread across it, Dutch's neat handwriting contradicting the dark scrawl, clearly being that of John, all over them.

"How would you boys be up to a little robbing?" he asks, a sparkle in his eyes.

Arthur 

The gunslinger would've placed his hands on his gun belt, shrugging slightly. "Figure it's about as good a day as any for it."

A light smirk would've played at Arthur's lips as he spoke, his eyes wondering around Dutch's rather impressive tent, however it wasn't surprising that it was like this. His hazel eyes would've then flicked down onto the notes spread out before them, the light from the sun flooding into the tent as he did. He would've recognized the chicken's scratch as John's, and the elegant handwriting as none other than Dutch's.

Lenny 

Lenny decided to re-emerge out from the world he had immersed himself in and set down the book in his tent. He then sauntered casually over to the group, excited to hear what’s next. The moment he heard robbing, his eyes sparkled in unison with Dutch. He was ready for something fun, enough reading and some action! Whatever this was, he knew it would be exciting. He politefully tipped his hat to Arthur, “Arthur.”, then to Dutch, “Mr. Dutch.”

Sean 

Sean stumbled across the camp, his back bent over a cold bottle of beer clutched tightly in his right hand. He wasn't wearing his usual light blue jacket or vest; just his dirty white undershirt with the top buttons undone to reveal his very few chest hairs. He had dark blue trousers on, with black shoes with the soles barely still intact covering his feet from the grassy earth. His green bowler hat with its gold band was askew on his head, his shoulder length ginger hair tumbling down around his face. He was, as usual, slightly unshaven, with the stench of alcohol emanating off of the young Irishman. He took a swig of his beer, a little bit spilling out of his mouth as he did so, his green eyes wide and bloodshot.

He miss-stepped and almost fell, but steadied himself, swaying for a moment as he squinted ahead of him, his eyes landing on Arthur and Charles heading inside Dutch's tent. He stepped closer and heard the mention of robbing, chuckling drunkenly before he threw open the tent flap and looked in, saying in his heavy Irish accent "Now did I hear sumthin about robbin? Dutch, ya wouldn't cut everyone's favorite gang member out of the action now would ya?". He looked at the older man with a puppy dog expression on his face, the smell of alcohol only seeming to intensify as he stood there in the entrance of the tent.

Dutch 

He is about to reply when he Lenny and Sean come bumbling into his tent and he finds himself frowning as he says, "A little privacy here, boys."

Lenny 

He seems a little let down and disappointed, but obeys. “Uh sure Mr. Dutch, my apologies.” He grips Sean by the shoulder and walks back over to his tent, pushing drunken Sean to the side as he enters and polishes his guns carefully.

Sean 

Sean gave a pout, saying remorsefully "Not even a hint as to the job, eh Dutch?". He pointed at Arthur, swaying from side to side and threatening to collapse once more. "But ya let the Englishman take part! Can't ya at least give ol Seany a little cut of the action?". He took a long swig of his beer, stumbling back out of the tents entrance where he promptly collapsed backwards onto the ground. He lay there, unmoving, and soon a loud snore became audible from the sleeping form, the beer bottle rolling away across the ground.

Dutch 

Dutch grips the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes, exhaling. "Arthur would you please close the tent?"

John 

As Marston is by Dutch's tent carrying a hay bale to the furthest horse station, he'd watch Sean as he'd back out of the big tent and fall. Seeing Sean snoring, he would drop the hay bale. "Goddamn it." John would grip Sean under the armpits, dragging him in the direction of his tent.

Arthur 

The gunslinger would've sighed as he watched Sean stumble out of the camp as quick as he stumbled in, shutting the flaps shut, as he shook his head and turned on her heel. "Where were we?" Arthur would've leaned slightly against the table, the shadow cast down from his leather hat partly concealing his eyes from view.

Sean 

Sean murmured as John started dragging him across the ground back towards his tent "Ya feckin Englishman... I... Snore". He slumped down into John's grasp, his snoring only growing louder as he was pulled along, a dead weight in his hold.

Dutch 

The map displayed on the table is clearly a bird's eye view of the south area of Blackwater with a few of the houses circled and a couple circled with a scrathy pen but then having been crossed out again by Dutch's lighter penstrokes. He gestures for the men to look down at it then removes his cigar from his mouth, gripping it between forefinger and thumb.

"As so kindly provided to us by John, we have a few opportunities here, boys, and I'd like for you to take the time to investigate the area and find out if there's anything worth rehousing." His eyes fall on Arthur. "That means no clomping around, Arthur. Charles, I'd like for you to show Arthur how to properly carry himself. These are simple in-and-out jobs and shouldn't be too hard to get done without disturbing any fine locals."

He ashes his cigar on the floor. "I shouldn't have to say that you shouldn't take more than we need. We can't have the law enforcement sniffing around when we're this close. But try to make it worth our while; got that?"

Charles 

Charles looked down at the map going over it as thoroughly as possible, he wanted to understand every in and out there was for this job no matter how small or simple. With Arthur with him the newcomer was sure this would work out just fine. "I say we leave now, and get this over with. Or i can just scout ahead to the first house and wait for you to arrive? What do you say Arthur?"

Arthur 

The gunslinger would've rubbed his beard for a moment, the risk wasn't too high aside from the Blackwater police, which were capable but avoidable. However, the man wasn't too sure about the reward. Yet he believed in Dutch, so of course, he would play along. "I've got nothin' better to do, we better get goin' now." He would've looked between the two, placing his hands on his coffee brown gun belt.

.・。.・゜✯

John 

John would finish doing chores shortly after Charles and Arthur had left the camp. At this time, he would grab himself a steaming bowl of beef stew, sitting in one of the chairs beside the round table. This is where they occasionally play poker. His hat is currently not equipped, which is a bad idea because the sun is beaming down as usual.

Micah 

Micah sees the two and wonders over slowly, each step is long and drawn out and he reeks of smoke coming from his cigar, he takes a puff and the smoke blows into John Marston's direction "What happening over here then?"

John 

John would wave the smoke that had been puffed onto his face by Micah. He was easily annoyed and he was about to confront Micah before he ran off like the dog he is. Marston would finish his beef stew before leaving the plate on the table, standing up. John would begin to be on guard duty around the outskirts of their camp.

.・。.・゜✯

Dutch 

The sun towers high in the sky and the tents cast short shadows around the camp. Everything is a blinding white and even despite his hat Dutch finds himself squinting to compensate.  
  
He sits at the camp table, sun beating down on the back of his neck in a way that will surely leave a mark, but he is too engrossed in his book to pay it any mind. His foot is crossed over his other knee, book in hand on his lap, his other hand idly rubbing the edge of his chin as he thinks.

Dutch leans back in his chair, staring into the distance for a moment as a thought crosses his mind. He hums under his breath and pulls out his journal, placing it on his open book and quickly writing a poem in French.

Lenny 

Lenny had come back in, riding high on Maggie. Maggie came to a slow stop and came up against a hitch, dropping off and linking her up. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a knife, then sat at a wooden table. He began to slowly play five finger fillet, waiting for someone to come play daggers with him.

Dutch 

Dutch raises his eyebrow as Lenny makes himself comfortable at the table with him, a little put off that he chose to do that right here and right now, but what can be done. He closes his books and sets them aside, leaning back in his chair as he offers the man a dashing, toothy smile.

"You miss often?"

Lenny 

He raised his fingers, showing multiple scars along them. He chuckled sweetly. “Not anymore, no sir!” He planted his fingers back to the table and continue to jab up against the wood in between his fingers, moving quicker at each time.

Dutch 

"As fine a skill as it is I'm sure Ms. Grimshaw won't let you off easy if you lose a finger," he says with a low chuckle. "Take it easy."

Dutch steadies himself with a hand on the table as he pulls himself to his feet. Still smiling, he nods at Lenny and walks over to his tent to stand in front of it, bending to strike a match off his boot with which he lights the cigar now in his lips.

.・。.・゜✯

Micah 

Micah bell with not much to do got up and slowly walked towards the edge of the camp to maybe find something or do something, the blood dropped on the floor as he walked over to John marston "Mister Marston" he said with a 'high and mighty' tone in his voice.

John 

"Micah," John would turn his head to Micah Bell as he'd grip the rifle he uses for guard duty. Micah was new to the gang, along with Charles, but John'd seem to trust Charles more than Micah. Marston always had a bad feeling when speaking to Micah or hearing him speak. He made sure to keep his guard up on this one.

Micah 

"You best keep your eyes peeled hey?" Micah laughed. His laugh was like a witches cackle, he studied John marston with his beedy eyes, John seemed to be close to John, it gave him authority Micah desperately wanted that authority it would make him feel power, and Micah loved feeling powerful.

John 

"What do you want, Micah?" John would step back a few feet away from Mr. Bell, being breathed down the neck, he'd despise. Especially with Micah being the one doing it. Both of Marston's hands would be on the rifle as if he was about to shoot Micah, right there. Just for self-defense, though, John knew he was new to the gang. 5 months maybe? He definitely didn't want to anger Dutch with the triggerfinger he had. John does love shooting annoying folk.

Micah 

"Nothing, nothing mister Marston, just wondering if you wanted to do anything with this spare time" He held up his hands in surrender and laughed again, he phrased the question lazily and threw his cigar onto the floor and stepped on it, looking at Marston he scratched his chin.

John 

"I ain't got no spare time, Micah, as you could see I'm doing my job." John would stare into Micah's eyes. "Just a few more minutes and I can attend. What do you want to do?" He would take it easier on Mr. Bell as he'd finish the sentence.

Micah 

"Dunno, we could do some bounty hunting, do some highway Robbin, hit a stage coach" Micah bell seemed to list anything dangerous and anything paying, if he was being honest he would rather do this with Dutch, but he didn't want to bother him.. he knew he wasn't ameant to cause trouble but he wanted to all the same.

John 

John would turn his eyes back into the yellow grass fields of #great-plains. "You sure Dutch wants us to do that right now?" He would turn his head to Micah again.

Dutch 

Dutch takes a deep drag of his cigar, releasing the smoke slowly so that it circles around his head before merging with the sky. His eyes follow the various gang members going about their business, tipping his cigar to Susan as she passes him, but otherwise not preoccupying himself in any way.

Micah 

"Oh he will be more than fine, we are making money after all aren't we?" He retorted smirking.

John 

"Why don't we ask Dutch?" John would turn his body to Micah this time, almost time for somebody else's shift. He would gesture to walk to Dutch's tent.

Micah 

"Let's not bother him, he's busy with enough stuff, come on Marston let's just go me and you eh, don't be scared Marston" he said.

John 

"I believe we're supposed to be lying low right now. Arthur and Charles are already doing a job anyway." John would proceed to guard the perimeter again.

Micah 

"Oh come on, extra cash never hurt anyone, come on let's go. God are you moody." He snapped at John "Come on Marston." Micah snorted.

Lenny 

Lenny continued to play Filet at his tent. Bored, he dropped the knife back into his satchel and entered his tent, pulling out some choice literature, Jude the Obscure, thinking it would be something Mary-Beth would enjoy, as they were both devout readers. He approached her tent, and stood out in front of it.

John 

"Will you stop trying to persuade me, Micah?" John would start getting irritated. "Go play your knife game or do somethin' else for a change. I'm not robbing if Dutch told me to remain in camp."

Micah 

"Come on, John, just a little thing I'm itching for excitement, just come on."

John 

Clearly annoyed, John would ignore him and would walk off his shift. It would be time to leave it anyways. "I'll see you soon, Mr. Bell." Marston would stop by to see Lenny reading a book, as usual. "Lenny."

Lenny 

He turned to John, about to speak to Mary-Beth. “John.” He tipped his hat, holding his book at his side. He looked back down at his book, then up at John. “Any word?”

Micah 

Rolling his eyes Micah jogged after him, and when he saw Lenny Summers he stopped. Lenny Summers always seemed more of an intellect then an outlaw but the boy wasn't half bad with s gun so he wasn't going to judge he pulled up a stool next to him.

John 

"No, I just tried to get away from-" he would pause at the sight of Micah following him. "Sorry to interrupt your conversation." Marston would walk to his empty tent, Abigail and Jack must've been enjoying the scenery. He would close the flaps behind him.

Micah 

"Sour, he is ain't he Lenny?" Micah said acting unusually friendly "Wanna go out and do something? Stage coach? Bounty hunting?" he asked nodding towards Lenny.

Mary-Beth 

With an idle hum, Mary-Beth emerged from her tent. She was fairly surprised to find not only Lenny just outside, but John - and a quickly approaching Micah. "Hi, John." Mary-Beth greeted the man as he quickly strode off, an amused smirk finding its way on her face. "Can't say I blame 'im." She muttered lowly to Lenny, quirking a brow as she drew the tent's canvas flaps open. Mary-Beth found her place, sitting on an flipped wooden crate, a needle and a spool of thread in hand. "Hello, Mr. Bell." She politely greeted Micah, tone stiff.

Lenny 

Lenny turned to her. “I came to drop this off. I knew you liked romance novels, so I figured we could be book buddies..” He chuckled slightly, and by the way, not at all in the position of flirtatious.

Javier 

Javier watched as the gang did the usual. It was just conversing, working, going for a lead, and playing. As much as he’d wanted to ride out and find his own lead - there was still camp work that needed to be done. Rather than wasting more time watching the gang, he continued to clean his horse. With a small horse brush, Javier slowly swept away dust, dirt, or mud. Best to keep his ride clean for whatever or whenever - he might have a job.

Micah 

"Well Lenny?" He asked impatiently. Completely ignoring Mary Beth.

Lenny 

“I would... if you’re on your best behavior.” He chuckled, pulling up his bandana. “Let’s go talk to Dutch, see what we can get done. Maybe some Blackwater Houses or something..”

Dutch 

A little ways from camp, just behind the outer tents under a tree, sits Dutch with his back up against the bark. He's not hidden but one would have to go looking for him to find him there.

His vest is cast aside, folded neatly on a rock nearby with his hat atop it. He sits with his head downturned, reading, the top of his hair speckled with light that breaks through the canopy of the tree he sits under, a book open in his lap and being held steady by a hand.

Micah 

"No need to bother Dutch, come on let's just go, I'll teach how to shoot better" He said persuasively, glancing at dutches tent then back at Summers.

Mary-Beth 

Mary-Beth threaded the needle in hand gingerly. It didn't take long due to years of practice, but it still earned a triumphant smirk from the woman. She glanced up to Lenny while knotting the needle, faltering slightly. She'd thought she had been subtle with her silly romance novels. She laughed sheepishly, but nevertheless, accepted the offer.

"Sounds like fun, thank you Lenny." Mary-Beth opened the book, distracted from her task. "You two better be careful out there." She added before she begrudgingly returned to the chore of mending clothes.

.・。.・゜✯

Sean 

Sean lay sprawled out on his bunk, his chest rising and falling steadily, while also snoring loudly. He was dressed in just his thin shirt, which was covered in dirt and grim, his vest and blue jacket thrown over a box close to the bunk he was sleeping on. His bowler hat had slipped off, landing on the earthen ground beside where he slept. His gun belt and holster lay untidily on the earth, his revolver roughly jammed into the holster while his double barrel shotgun was laid up against a nearby table. His ginger hair lay messily around his head, as did several bottles. More bottles were spread out on the earth around him, his flushed face being further evidence of his recent binge drinking. Nearby his horse, Ennis, grazed peacefully, his saddle in place ready to go if the need arose.

Dutch 

The sun beats down hard on the back of Dutch's neck and he wipes away a bead of sweat as he approaches the rise that leads him back to camp. The Count chuffs underneath him, jangling his bit to try and get Dutch to loosen his grip on the reins, but despite his hands being damp from the heat he's adament not to let go. He can already see the camp coming in to view from beyond the short incline, and even from a distance he can already make out the shapes of his gang members going about their business, and this draws a small smile to his lips as he clucks his tongue to The Count, urging him the last stretch in a swift trot.

It doesn't take long before he is at the hitching posts where he slides from his horse's back, hand running down the stallion's neck as he lands on his feet, and then he is already striding across camp back to his tent. The sun has been too much for even him today, and Dutch being Dutch he is determined to always look his best. And so through the tent flaps he goes, letting them fall closed behind him, to change his shirt and wash his face in the bowl of water by his cot.

Feeling refreshed, he dabbles a little cologne around his neck then pushes through the flaps back into the sun outside. His hat casts a shadow over his eyes as he assumes his position in front of his tent where he strikes a match off his boot and lights his cigar, finally taking a moment to relax as he relishes in the smoke.

Mac 

The Van Der Linde camp. It was home to many people, not all good and not all bad. That's what Mac loved to think on, as he rode his steed towards it. On a slow yet steady trot, Edward allowed a few exhales of disagreement escape his rust-coloured mane, but Mac Callander paid it no mind. Edward always had something to make a fuss about, so Mac did his usual trick of giving it a one-handed rub on the side of the neck.

As the two of them would make their way into the campsite, Mac dismounted and brought Edward to a stake of wood. He took the bridle, saddle and attaching bags off, which got Edward to let his muscles relax a little. The riding of the day was done, and Mac let the saddle and all of its various things rest on a wooden hitching post.

If there was one similarity between Mac and Edward, it was the walk. Mac knew how he trotted back into camp after a long ride, and since the sun had came up and he left sometime around sundown, he knew he had been out longer than expected. With a sigh of relief, Mac made his way over to a table near the centre of camp, plopped down into it, and began to look over the various tents set up by others. He watched the other members of the gang as they went about their various tasks, paying a curious attention to each as they simply went about their existence. And he was fine with that, watching them from afar.

Dutch 

Dutch's eyes fall on Mac as he comes into camp and in the brief eye contact they share, he doffs his cigar to him with a smile on his lips before taking another drag from it.

Mac 

Van Der Linde. Well, Mac had made eye contact with old Dutch, so he figured it would be good to touch base with him. Rising from his seat at the table, Mac would stretch his arms and back for a moment before heading over to the tent. It was nicer than any tent owned by another person, and while it made Mac a little jealous - He wasn't one to complain. So he approached the flaps to the tent and stopped beside Dutch, giving Dutch a smile.

"Van Der Linde," he said, his voice rough yet friendly.

Dutch 

His eyes follow the ballsy Mac, an eyebrow raised as the man fast approaches him and his smile fading from his lips as his hands go for the tent flaps. Dutch takes a long drag of his cigar, taking his time before tapping the ash off with a finger.

"Not your place to enter uninvited, is it now?"

Mac 

"Enter?" Mac inquired, clearly being outside of the tent and beside Dutch. He gave the Van Der Linde man a curious tilt of the head, though shrugged it off. Dutch was always in those books, so maybe he took the approach as a sort of entrance into his sphere?

"I haven't got a clue what you mean. Anyways - Came down here to check base, see if there's anything you needed done?"

Dutch 

Dutch grips the bridge of his nose and looks down, closing his eyes as he says, "Sorry, Mr. Callander. I'm away with the wind it would appear. What can I do for you? More importantly; where have you been?"

Mac 

"I was out by Tall Trees earlier, out for a ride. Couldn't find much to do, outside a small robbery on a campsite. You all already do enough for me,though - How can I make myself useful?"

John 

John would exit his tent, this time with his hat, seeing Dutch and, well, crazy Mac at the first glance. He would simply not intrude, walking over to the grub. It has been a while since Marston grabbed coffee in all honesty, he would proceed to do exactly that. Although, John would prefer a bottle of whiskey over the coffee anyday. After he was done pouring himself a hot coffee in this fine, hazy midday, he would walk to the main campfire - sitting down on a log to enjoy another way of gaining energy throughout the day.

Dutch 

"A robbery? Good work, my boy." He has found his smile again and he lightly slaps Mac on the shoulder. "Hope it wasn't too much trouble for you? You've done quite enough for today. Why not take the afternoon off?"

Mac 

"You sure, boss-man? Thanks."

Mac was appreciative of the time he had off, even if he wasn't always such an expressive man. He gave Dutch a smile and a gesture of goodbye, before returning to his spot at the table prior. It wasn't a comfortable table, he knew it well, but hey - It was a place to sit on something that wasn't galloping beneath him. So for that, at the very least, he was a grateful man.

Sean 

Sean eventually awoke with a loud groan, sitting up on his bunk while scratching the back of his head. He ran his fingers through his messy hair and yawned, throwing his legs out of bed before standing up fully, stretching his arms far above his head. He grabbed his dark red vest and pulled it on, buttoning it up before then pulling on his light blue jacket: both quite dirty like his grey undershirt. His feet shifted several bottles that lay out on the ground around his bed as he started walking around camp, buckling his holster to his belt as he walked.

Dutch 

Dutch watches Mac walk away, his cigar clenched between his teeth. Despite the smile on his lips he wears a frown. That man will continue to confuse him, but so be it. He shrugs and removes the cigar, holding it in his hand and tapping it occasionally as he thinks to himself, eyes wandering across camp.

Just in the corner of his vision he sees Sean stumbling about and finds a low chuckle in his chest. Some way to entertain himself at least. Dutch straightens the bottom of his vest with his free hand then makes his way over to the Irishman, smoothing his hair, and offers him a brimming smile as he says, rather light-heartedly, "Good morning, Mr. MacGuire! I trust by the fine look on your face that you are well rested and eager to approach the day, am I right?"

It's said ironically and there's a sparkle in Dutch's eyes.

Sean 

Sean swiveled unsteadily on his feet to look at the familiar figure of Dutch, stumbling a little as he did so. He swayed from side to side, scratching the back of his head as the other man spoke, grunted a little at the ironic tone in his voice. He said unsteadily, his green eyes bloodshot, his Irish accent more evident than usual "Yeah yeah old man, make fun of the drunky ol' Irish lad. Ha ha".

The young man stretched his arms out, rolling his shoulders a little before looking at the gangs leader once more, a flicker of amusement coming into his eyes. He added, a note of eagerness in his voice "Ya don't happen to have any er... Jobs goin, do ya Dutch? I need some more money after some.... Necessary expenses". His head shifted just slightly, indicating the scattered bottles spread out around his bunk.

Dutch 

He rolls his eyes at Sean and shakes his head, chuckling. "Now why on earth would I surely send your drunk self to certain doom just to pay for another night's drinking? I am sure there are better ways for you to amuse yourself Mr. MacGuire, and I trust it not to be one that puts the camp at risk when you're on a job; am I clear?"

His voice isn't particularly stern, but he just has this look about him that suggests it better not to contradict him, even despite the smile still on his face. He continues, "As much as I appreciate the finesse of liquor, I'd recommend to you, my good sir, to find solace in the company you keep instead of the bottle in your hand. What pleasant company Miss Jones for example has to offer."

Dutch finishes with a slight wink, one that could easily be missed if you weren't looking for it.

Sean 

Sean sighs heavily, fixing his bowler hat on his head as the older man lectured him. He stared down at the ground, scuffing his shoes against the earth like a child. He shifted from one foot to the other, fiddling with the handle of his revolver in its holster before looking up at Dutch again. He knew it was best not to contradict him, not when he put on that voice, but still he felt a little annoyed that he wasn't being given any work to do for the camp.

"Oh come on Dutchy, ye know me! I would never, ever put the camp at risk. I love ya all too much, and I know ye love me too? Eh? Eh?" Sean said, only partly joking, gesturing back and forth between himself and Dutch. Then he reigsted the comment about Karen, his cheeks going a shade redder, but he said nothing on it.

Dutch 

Dutch gives a deep, hearty chuckle and lays a hand on Sean's shoulder, his eyes shining. "I know you mean well, my boy, but you're of no use to me when you drink like a sailor. Now go sober up, you hear me? And I'll think about setting you off on a job."

Sean 

The young man's eyes sparkled happily as he gave the older man a wide grin, rubbing his hands together eagerly. He said cheerfully, lightly punching the air as he did so "Ahh I knew ya couldn't resist me Dutch! I'll go see what old Pearson is cookin, I need some damn breakfast already".

Dutch 

"Knowing the fabled tastes of the camp cook it can only be something worthwhile, though I will not be joining you I'm afraid. I er... I have my breakfast already," he says, gesturing with his cigar.

Sean 

"Aye aye captain! I'm off, I'll see ya later old man!" Sean said jovially as he marched off towards the camps cooking area. He called out "Ey Pearson, where's some of that slop you call food at huh?"

Tilly 

Tilly was softly humming to herself as she was sitting near a tree, looking up at the sky. She wasn't a fan of bustling about in the early hours, or even at all at times, but she enjoyed being productive in a calm way. The woman held a beautiful flower in her hand. A pansy, with petals that expand from white to violet. It wasn't her favorite flower, but she was fond of it's color, and how common she would see them on trips, or walking about with the girls.

But, as time goes by Till had gotten a little bored. There wasn't much to do at camp other than causing mischief, educating herself more, or talking. So, miss Jackson decided to talk to Mary-beth. A friend she could confide in much better than Grimshaw or Abigail and Karen. The two seemed to be on the same page about a lot of things, including books!

Her hands patted off the dirt or any dust from her skirt, sighing softly to herself before walking away from scenic spot to find Mary-beth. Whilst walking through camp she said a greeting to the men around. Each greet came with a smile of course! Once she found Mary-Beth the woman waved to her.

"Hey Mary-beth! How are you?" She questioned, her hands behind her back.

Mary-Beth 

Mary-Beth looked over her handiwork as she finished the last of her mending: the stitchwork was straight and tight, and she was more than proud of herself. It'd taken her everything to ignore the book set down beside her. It was even harder to simply ignore it now that she had nothing to occupy her hands and eyes. However, her will to avoid a run-in with Miss Grimshaw was greater. The thought of the woman alone was enough to make the girl shudder. No, Mary-Beth would definitely not be facing Grimshaw's wrath - not today, at least. Fixing to deliver the clothes to whom she figured they'd belonged to - she hadn't been told, Miss Grimshaw merely dropped them off to her tent the night prior - she was stopped by a familiar voice.

Glancing upwards to see Tilly, Mary-Beth offered the girl a smile of relief. "I'm doin' good, Tilly. What've you been up to? I haven't seen you in camp much today!" Curiously she tilted her head. "You haven't been out robbing, have you?" She prompted carefully.

Tilly 

"I haven't done much but look at the clouds. That and well, avoiding miss Grimshaw like death." Tilly laughed, sitting beside the busy woman, looking at what she was occupied with. "I can't go robbing by myself this early! I'd need a partner." She whispered to her, softly laughing at the prompt.

"Do you want any help with your mending, Beth? I know miss Grimshaw gives you more than others.." her camp mate questioned while holding concern for her. "I haven't seen you do much but work and read! Are any of your books interesting?" She asked her politely, her right hand going to adjust her hair while looking around where they were sitting.

Mary-Beth 

Shaking her head, Mary-Beth huffed. "Wish you would've came 'round sooner - I just finished." If she'd known she didn't have to keep pricking her own fingers with the needlepoint, she would've gone searching for Tilly earlier. It wasn't like Mary-Beth minded, really - she had no complaints about pulling her own weight, but it was always fun to have one of the girls to keep her company. Mary-Beth's restless hands began folding the articles of clothing - she tried to make sense of what belonged to who, making mental notes to herself.

"Don't you worry about me, I can handle her." She said dismissively, quirking a brow. At the mention of books, she seemed to lighten up. "I been meaning to find a library someplace. I keep rereading those old Austen books." Abruptly, she stopped herself and leaned closer. "Speaking of books - d'you know Lenny came by here and dropped one off for me?"

Tilly 

"D'awh. Sorry.." Jackson chuckled softly, watching Mary-beth fold. She definitely would have helped her friend get the work done, and also talk to her more than she would if Grimshaw had been lurking about.

"Are you sure? She's.. a lot to deal with.." Tilly weakly replied before widening her eyes at the talk of books. It was just grand to hear Mary-beth enthuse about books and authors. Her, Dutch, and Hosea had an effect on her when it came to reading. Once Mary leaned in she leaned as well, a sly grin on her face.

"Oh really? Was it a romance novel? What did he say to you Mary? Was he nice about it, or just gave it to you?" Was Summers trying to flirt with Mary-beth?! If he was Tilly was going to be looking out for her dear friend if he does wrong by her at any moment of time.

Mary-Beth 

"Yeah, it was! How'd you know?" Her voice became slightly pitchy in excitement, though she was quick to catch herself with a soft giggle. "You ain't one of them clairvoyants I told you 'bout, now, are you?" She added teasingly.

Mary-Beth glanced around, sweeping the area before she spoke again. "It was - worst part about it is that I think I'll like it." She stated. Everyone with even half a brain knew how weak the girl was for books - and especially of the romance variety. She glanced over. "He was real nice 'bout it, just gave it over without too much reason." She thoughtfully bit at her lower lip, fingers twisting a ringlet for a moment before she spoke again. "Strange, though. I thought he was sweet on Jenny? Ain't he?" She furrowed her brows as she looked expectantly towards Miss Tilly.

Tilly 

"No, I ain't a clairvoyant! I just know things!" Tilly played along, laughing at her playful behavior and excitement about Lenny. It hadn't really been thought of by the woman how Mary-beth and Lenny could be romantic. That is if anything were to. Sure the gang had their.. 'couples' but thinking on how John and Abigail are like she wasn't very keen on Mary-beth going that same path to be quite honest.

"Oh, you mean the book right?" She chimed in on her hesitation on liking the given book. "Well, that's nice I suppose! Everybody gives somebody something nice without a reason." Tills shrugged before resting her head on her hand. "He talks about her now and again. I hear the men talk about their affairs sometimes." Even Tilly was caught up on some gossip around the gang good or not; But, it was gossip nonetheless. Her eyebrows were just as furrowed as they shared a glance.  
  
"Maybe you should go talk to Lenny, Mary-Beth!"

Mary-Beth 

"You just know things, huh? My, that don't sound suspicious at all." Mary-Beth teased, grinning widely. She was more than grateful to have such a comfortable relationship with another woman in camp. Growing up, she never had gotten the privilege of having friends. While she didn't look back at her early life with much fondness, Mary-Beth knew she'd never trade it for the world. After all, the pain and suffering had gotten her somewhere nice, hadn't it? The woman shook off her thoughts so she could engage herself once more into the topic at hand.

"Jenny Kirk? Affairs?" Mary-Beth sounded surprised - and she was. "That girl is an angel. I'll believe it when I see it." Nipping her lower lip in thought, she almost missed Tilly's remark. "Hm? Oh. I will, I'm sure, I didn't get to thank him proper before Micah was begging him to leave camp." Her lips formed the name distastefully. "What do you think 'bout Micah, anyways?" She asked curiously, peering over. "He's a tough one to crack, can't figure what Dutch seen in him."

Tilly 

Tilly quickly laughed after her teasing, shaking her head. "I jus' pick up on it is all. It's not hard! Well, it's not if a few you know aren't roaming about." She hinted, but was Mary-Beth could get her hints. Some of the folks had short fuses, and if it really was known across Tilly could hear them, or showed up at the wrong time to hear about it she'd be in some trouble. "You can see it! I don't think mister Summers would, but I ain't too sure." Till replied, before frowning and standing up, peering around with her.

"I think he's rotten, Mary-Beth. Have you seen the way he talks about Charles, Lenny and me? He's so mean to them, and it's even worse on me." miss Jackson replied with slight anger in her tone about the bastard before sighing. "Maybe Dutch knows something, or he's just too nice." She said, stretching her arms. "Do you want to talk to Micah? I'll follow along, but if he says anything to me I'll knock him to the ground."

Mary-Beth 

"Rotten, huh?" Visibly perking up at the accusation, Mary-Beth listened closely - and she was quick to piece it together. "He likes pickin' on just you few, especially, huh?" She muttered softly. Nevermind him blatantly ignoring her polite greeting when it seemed that the man was targeting the three. It wasn't any coincidence, Mary was sure.

"Is he holdin' his weight? That's gotta be it. Mister Van der Linde would've cut him loose by now, if he weren't." Mary-Beth's chest ached for Tilly, and for the other men. She knew that they faced injustices everywhere they went, but camp was supposed to be a safe place for all of them.

"If he has anything to say to you, Miss Tilly, you tell me." Mary-Beth was not a threatening woman in the slightest, that much everyone knew. Even she knew that. However, she also knew how bad her temper could get- especially when it concerned those dear to her. Huffing quietly, she settled herself, smoothing her hands over her skirts.

"It's all fine, Tilly, but don't you worry your pretty head- the minute I'm fixing to confront him, I'll bring you along." She smirked, and then, came across a particularly interesting idea. "Y'know, I don't know too much about my stitching - it'd be real unfortunate if Micah's clothes came up more ripped up than they been." Mary said slyly, glancing towards Tilly; a silent offer.

Tilly 

Tilly wasn't one to always cause trouble, yet there were plenty of times she'd happily.. support it. Even though she was accepted into the gang as anyone else had been, a certain person had caused her some lingering feelings about her being there. She hasn't the only colored person, yet Micah and people that thought and acted like him in nature only treated anyone who wasn't white, or worth his... meaningless time like dirt. So, hearing from Mary-Beth that they rip up his clothes plenty, it made her ecstatic.

"We should. But not yet. We can wait till night time, it tomorrow; when he's ain't around." Tilly patted Mary-Beth's shoulder lightly before looking around. "I think I'm going to go on a walk and sleep. Just for a bit." With that, Jackson told her friend goodbye and went to spend the rest of her day alone, then rest for tomorrow, as anyone else would.


End file.
